Scarred Beautiful (9 page)

Welcome To

Beautiful Paradise Cove

Have A Seat

Bring The Kids

Sea The View

Enjoy Malibu

“It’s amazing how I spent the first nine years of my life in California but never even knew paradise like this existed,” I say, completely mesmerized by the beauty surrounding me, but unfortunately knowing all too well it can turn deadly in the blink of an eye.

“I didn’t even realize you grew up in California,” Matt replies, kicking up the sand with his feet as we make our way to the water. He gets hit in the knee with a beach ball and a blue-eyed, blond-haired little boy runs up to him with a goofy smile. Matt tosses the ball back and he giggles then runs away.

“Yes, well, I consider myself a
New Yorker
.” I emphasize my subtle accent when I say the last two words. “You know the type, we’re tough shit, so don’t mess.”

Matt chuckles at my last comment as we finally reach the ocean and he dips his feet in, jumping back quickly. “Wow, that’s seriously cold.”

“Chicken,” I joke, bending down to splash him with water until I notice the playful gleam in his eye and realize I might be in trouble.

“Oh, you don’t think it’s
cold
, Fran? Maybe you’d like to go for a little
swim
?” He takes two steps toward me and I take three back.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I counter, pursing my lips together as I watch him stalking me, ready to pounce.

“Oh, I would dare, Fran. Ask Caleb. He’ll tell you how I respond to dares….”

Before I can utter a reply, Matt grabs me under my knees and scoops me up while I kick my legs furiously in the air.

“Put me down,” I shout, laughter mixing with the high-pitched screams that are leaving my mouth. “Peyton, help me!” I shriek, throwing my head back, but when I see her and Caleb making out further down the beach, I know she won’t be saving me anytime soon.

When I boost myself back up, Matt’s face is inches from mine, our eyes now locked, our breathing intense. I can feel his breath on my cheeks, making them red with heat, the sun no longer an excuse for my warmth.

“You can’t throw me in,” I pant, “I’ve got a skirt on.”

His eyes focus on my lips and I wet them to ease the sudden dryness there. “I think I’ve got you at an advantage right now and I can do whatever I like,” he says, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths, his muscles bunching underneath his shirt.

After a pause, he drops his gaze and lowers me to the ground. “I’ll let you off, for now.” He smiles, and I quickly smooth my skirt back down and fix my ponytail.

We stand next to one another, inhaling the salty air, embraced by the calmness of the sea. Matt looks over at me and then back out to the ocean. “She loved it here, my sister. I remember the first time I brought her here,” he says, nostalgia crossing his face, softening his smile. “She ran right into the water, headfirst, and started screaming and laughing, said it was the most beautiful place on earth.” He’s quiet for a minute and when I glance over at him, his shoulders droop, his solid posture suddenly shrinking. “I also remember the last time I brought her here,” he murmurs so softly I almost don’t hear him. “I carried her frail body, wrapped in her favorite flannel blanket so she could keep warm, honoring her wish to see the ocean for one last time.”

I remember Gabby telling me that Brad’s sister and mom had both died of breast cancer, and seeing Matt standing here, understanding his overwhelming loss, one that tears at your soul and hinders your every thought, I reach out my hand to him. He doesn’t flinch as I half expect him to, but squeezes my hand, releasing a hard breath.

“She was so full of life, you know? She was stubborn and hard-headed, a real spitfire.” He angles his head in my direction. “Reminds me of someone,” he says, his dimple rising with a small smile as he recalls the memory. His eyes move from my face to our adjoined hands, and I casually let mine fall away, still wanting to be there for him, but fear mixed with guilt churns my stomach and I need to let go.

“I’m sorry,” I utter quietly, “I know all too well what it’s like to lose someone you love. It’s like having to drink poison every day after they’re gone, your insides slowly decaying until there’s nothing left.” When I realize what I’ve said, I wince, wanting to take the words back immediately. “I’m sorry,” I say again, “that sounded really depressing.”

He doesn’t look at me, but continues to be mesmerized by the rippling of the tide. “It’s okay.” He lets out a sad laugh. “It’s actually a pretty accurate analogy.” He finally turns to me. “Who did
you
lose, Fran?”

I breathe out a rush of salty air as the memory grabs hold of me.

We’d been dating a year and Kyle planned the vacation as a surprise, knowing how much I loved the ocean. The Hawaiian island was simply magnificent: black sand, the cerulean blue sky, crests of snow-capped waves brushing the shore, and the sun reflecting off the water casting a warm glow on my skin. Kyle and I were swimming in the sea, like fish in their natural habitat. I felt so free…so happy. Then suddenly everything went black. The last thing I heard was our laughter, followed by the sound of splashing filling my ears before it became muffled and I got tugged under by the force of a wave so powerful that it stole all of my breath.

I was being pulled further into the depths of darkness until I saw an array of exquisite colors and dancing light. I had the weightless feeling of floating on a cloud and then being blanketed by warmth, soft lips covering mine. It was wonderful until I started gasping, water spurting every which way, my head turned to the side, coughing relentlessly.

I’d lost all sense of space and time until I heard a voice that brought me back from the depths of my subconscious. I had yet to crack my eyes open but didn’t recognize the deep, rich sound.

“Hey, can you hear me?” the male voice said, concern evident in his words.

When I finally opened my eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight, the blond-haired, hazel-eyed face I was staring into was not familiar. Panic suddenly consumed me. “W-Where’s Kyle?” I choked out.

The man said nothing, just shook his head back and forth as if he didn’t understand my question.

You couldn’t hear my voice echoing in a scream across the island, nor could you see sobs racking my body. I simply reached my hand out to the ocean that minutes ago had lured us into its beauty, tears crawling silently down my cheeks as his name fell from my lips. “Kyle.”

I was used to suffering in silence and even more accustomed to the stabbing pain piercing through my chest. Kyle was gone, and yet again, I learned that love fucking hurts. Maybe I just didn’t deserve it.

An emptiness fills me, a burning ache that even after two years hasn’t gone away. He was the one person who thought I was beautiful in spite of my scars, who saw my broken parts and still managed to love me anyway. How do you go on when the one person who gave you a whisper of hope for something you only dreamed about, is gone?

“The love of my life,” I reveal in a murmur, not really wanting him to hear my words…not even wanting to hear my own words. Again, I mentally chastise myself, it’s been two years and I know it’s time to move on, just like I used to tell Gabby. I guess I’m better at giving advice than heeding my own. If I’m honest, even though I do miss Kyle, it’s the gift he gave me that I miss most, loving me in spite of myself, despite my scars and my broken past.

“I’m sorry,” he says so sincerely with his voice and his eyes that my heart nearly cracks in two. For some reason, it’s so meaningful that it shatters the rest of the way when he gathers me in his arms and just holds me while I cry.

“Shhh,” he says in a hushed whisper as he strokes my hair back and forth, soothing the wound in my heart and for the briefest of moments, instilling a seed of hope that I can heal.

He finally pulls away, but not completely, piercing me with his stare, his eyes a penetrating blue. “You know it’s possible to have more than one love in a lifetime, Fran, right? Especially for someone like you.” He pushes an errant hair from my face. “Someone so authentic and rare….” He clears his throat and faces the water once again, leaving me momentarily stunned by his words.

Matt just managed to repair one of the tiny cracks in my heart without even realizing it.

Is she for real? First she tells me that she likes it when I laugh, well, not in those words, but it was pretty clear. Then she taunts me and I find myself coming back for more. What the hell? The fucked up part. I liked it. All of it. I like the way I feel around her, the adrenaline surge that kicks in, the way she challenges me, almost to the point of not caring what I think about her. That is so damn attractive and she has absolutely no idea.

I’ve always been the pragmatic one, ever since I can remember. I’m not sure if it’s from being the oldest of three children, or if it’s something that was ingrained in my personality since birth. But I do know this—it’s been nearly a day and all of my rational thought has gone right out the fucking window. Nothing makes sense when I’m around her and I find myself in a constant state of confusion. She throws me off my game and I can’t figure out if I like the feeling or not. Well, I think I do. It’s just that I’m used to being in control and having my shit together, yet one snarky comment from her and I’m sent into a tailspin.

I’ve always loved a good challenge. Ever since I was a kid, if you told me there was something I couldn’t do, I’d work three times as hard to prove that I could. When I was eleven and Mom told me that if I ate one more peanut butter and jelly sandwich, bringing my count to four, that I’d end up getting sick—I mentally talked myself out of throwing up the entire night. I even snuck a couple glasses of ginger ale when she wasn’t looking, just so I could show her she was wrong.

When we went out on my parents’ small boat on Greenwich Beach as kids to go water-skiing and my friends said anyone who didn’t do it was a scaredy-cat, I was terrified, but never let on that it scared me to death. Instead, I went ahead and did it so everyone could see how brave I was…and then I ended up breaking my leg. But hey, they couldn’t call me chickenshit.

So when Fran looks at me with those dazzling green eyes and dares me, she has absolutely no idea what she’s in for, because that’s the one word in my vocabulary that gets my juices flowing, and she’s about to discover just how much.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, mashing her lips together, forming an adorable smirk.

“Oh, I would dare, Fran. Ask Caleb. He’ll tell you how I respond to dares….”

When Caleb dared me to eat a worm in third grade—I ate two. When he dared me to see if I could get to second base with Nancy Trimbell—I got to third. When he dared me to moon a car full of girls on the highway for one minute—I kept my ass up there for five. So this, well, this is cake.

I catch Fran by surprise and hoist her in the air. She tries to fight me, kicking her legs and attempting to wiggle out of my grasp, but I just tighten my hold.

“Put me down,” she yells, half laughing and half screaming while attempting to call Peyton for backup, but she’s way too busy locking lips with Caleb to come to Fran’s rescue.

When her eyes come back up to meet mine, I can feel that energy pulsating between us. Although my attention flickers to her lips, a dark pink from the sun, the cool breeze has made her nipples taut against the thin fabric of her tank, and my breathing accelerates. It’s impossible not to appreciate every single detail about Fran; she’s unbelievably gorgeous.

My gaze is drawn back to her lips when her tongue darts out to moisten them, making me want to taste her, to kiss her, to go exploring. What the hell am I saying? I’ve known this girl for barely twenty-four hours and yet I feel like I’ve known her for years.

I finally lower her to the ground, because if I don’t, I’m not sure I’ll be able to control myself much longer. As if that isn’t bad enough, then the words start spilling out about my sister. I don’t know what possessed me to say them. I’m usually very tight-lipped about my mother and sister’s deaths, Brad and Caleb being the only ones to bear the brunt of my anger, my grief, and my absolute heartbreak over losing them. But for some reason, standing next to Fran, an ease washes over me and I let a little piece of myself go. And, fuck me, she grabs that piece of me by taking my hand. I exhale a breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding, and by the time it leaves my mouth her hand is gone, and I want it back.

I vaguely remember now that Brad mentioned something about her boyfriend passing away, but hearing her tell me about it was devastating. I know all too well how it feels so I pull her into my arms, as much for myself as for her. I smooth her hair down and tell her it’s going to be okay, but sometimes that’s such a bunch of bullshit.

But I’m not bullshitting her though when I tell her she’s authentic and rare. What possessed me to say that? I have no freaking idea, but I do know I meant it with my whole heart. She’s the real deal. There’s nothing fake about Fran.